


The Angel Who Didn't Cry Wolf

by SaintSaens



Category: The Angel (2018), Trust (TV 2018)
Genre: Canon Compliant, Crack-ish, Death Threats, Drugs, Gen, I don't know how, Implied/Referenced Terrorism, Kidnapping, M/M, Primo is a little shit, Threats of Violence, Unintentional Kidnapping, international politics, more like, or an attempt at, poor Ashraf, yes I managed that
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-03
Updated: 2020-12-03
Packaged: 2021-03-09 21:08:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,655
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27862818
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SaintSaens/pseuds/SaintSaens
Summary: Primo blinks. He blinks, and yet. There is still something inside the trunk that isn't supposed to be there."Che cazzo?"The man coughs and squints up at him, looking pitiful and sweaty as he pushes himself back, pressing against luggages at the same time."Please, I'm a diplomat"he rasps, holding his hands in front of him.Primo's ears ring, his brain goes blank. English.He slams the trunk close.Fuck no.
Relationships: Gabriele/Primo Nizzuto, Primo Nizzuto & Ashraf Marwan
Comments: 3
Kudos: 15





	The Angel Who Didn't Cry Wolf

**Author's Note:**

> Okay, before you dive in :
> 
> 1) this came from a crack-like idea because Primo puts people into trunks / Ashraf gets put into trunks. Both of these idiots are around Rome in 1973. That's what it's about. 
> 
> 2) I cannot _\- dear god knows I've tried-_ write these two as having MORE than a nice conversation. I'm sorry. I know a lot of people are looking for some actual Primo/Ashraf _~~because christ Joe & Nicky with these looks in the 70s~~_ but I cannot for the life of me make these two characters a thing. Primo is just too guarded and Ashraf is just too into "my wide needs me to play nice/I'm stressed by spying duties" to try anything (when we see him in Rome at least. No queer vibe from him - nothing!! Why did I even try???). So I cannot. I could not. Deepest apologies.
> 
> 3) it's actually the first work in The Angel fandom. I did not want that honor, because the movie itself is meh. But I will have it so. Please, anyone out here, don't leave me alone trying to mash Primo and Ashraf together? Please.
> 
> 4) We've collectively agreed it seems that the steward handling coke in Bertolino's restaurant is named Gabriele. So that's who Gabriele is for those wondering.

  
[September 1973]

"When's your next flight, steward?" 

Gabriele looks up from his crouch. He is smoking behind Berto's restaurant, in between trash and dog shit. Primo, surprisingly enough, is leaning in the doorway of the kitchen, gazing around as if he had never seen the street before. His face scrunches up as a draft of wind brings by a smell of rotten fish and tomatoes. Gabriele watches him, with his fashionable sharp clothes and his lousy necklaces, surrounded by trash. And dog shit. 

Right where they both belong, he thinks. He feels like sneering.

"3 hours" he grumbles instead, making Primo chuckle. 

"Brazil again? Or Argentina this time?" 

Gabriele doesn't reply. He puts out his cigarette and stands up, grinding it under his fancy polished shoe for good measure. 

"Dai" the Calabrese takes a drag "you look like you're going to a funeral. Cheer up, you're sitting on the heritage." he nods at the attaché case, carelessly lying on the pavement next to Gabriele. Primo's hair fall in front of his eyes, soft and light, and Gabriele feels his own stick to his scalp. He grinds his teeth, his fingers tingling. How long has it been, since he last saw him? How long ago was it that they bickered and fucked like two horny teenagers. 

Gabriele looks at Primo, catching onto the tiredness etched in his face and the resentment radiating from his posture. The man disappears and has the gale to come back frustrated and on edge, making small talk as if the entire Avitabile's clan hadn't been wondering where the fuck he had been. Berto's body burnt by a sunflowers field a month ago, traces of bullet wounds but no casings found. As if that didn't scream Primo Nizzuto to everyone's faces. And here he is, the man of the hour, waltzing in without a care in the world and asking about Gabriele's next flight. 

Gabriele wonders what would happen if he punched Primo, if he gripped tight onto his stupid long hair and ground him back into the wall. For daring to come back to him, looking like that, acting like that, after all that time. Primo wouldn't laugh at him then. 

Maybe.

Gabriele had thought him dead for a while. He had actually wondered if Don Giuseppe hadn't dealt with him. He wouldn't put it past him. He sort of deserved it.

And now he is the one feeling frustrated.

"You can laugh, you're not the one sent every other week flying around." Gabriele spats by the trash, straightening his standard-issue jacket and electing to ignore the questions flying around his brain. "Don Giuseppe won't let me settle. I'm tired."

"You're an idiot." Primo announces as he throws away his own stub and rolls his shoulders back."He's doing this for you." 

Gabriele's dark glare doesn't prevent Primo from smirking. As if. Instead, Primo saunters close. Gabriele wants to growl.

"Come on" Primo smiles, putting an arm around his shoulders "in a few years, you'll be settling right over there" he gestures grandly at the sun over their head, squinting in the light "living the best time of your life, with coke and booze and a beach, just for you. Every once in a while you'll babble something out in Spanish or whatever and that's it. You'll be the manager of your little Paradise island. Sitting on a throne of drugs."

Gabriele does hate him when he talks like that.

"Right, and where will you be, eh?" Gabriele shakes his head, struggling to get Primo off of him. He is feeling vicious at the dream that will never be, not for him at least. Or maybe it's just Primo's sudden closeness that makes him tense. "Still haunting our back streets? Or wherever the hell you've been these past weeks? You damned dog." 

Primo's hand tightens on his shoulder, it's the matter of a breath but Gabriele catches in his periphery the man staring at him. Gabriele shivers. When he glances, it's a sharp smile, all teeth and no joy that is pinned on Primo's lips.

"I'll be the one telling you what to babble of course." 

Gabriele pushes Primo away finally, and busies himself picking up his attaché case. It's hard to tell if the man believes in what he is saying in those moments, or if the clarity in his eyes is just the madness finally coming through. All that coke, those drugs, that must have done some damage. 

"You're mad, is what you are. I knew I should have put you down when I had the chance." he mutters, away from Primo's face. 

He hears a kick sending a tin can rolling away from their street. 

"You could never have" Primo says, undisturbed. 

"And why is that?" Gabriele snaps, turning back and striding to the kitchen's door without a glance in Primo's direction. He needs out, now. This has gone on long enough.

Primo's hand is on the handle before he reaches for it. Gabriele glares at him. 

"Because you know you would have regretted it." Primo smirks, looking down at him, voice dripping with pride.

"I'm really regretting not killing you, right now. What are you doing here?" Gabriele makes a half-hearted grab for the handle, which Primo bats away easily.

Gabriele wants to scream, but Primo is there, overwhelming and just there, and his breath is in Gabriele's neck before he can do anything else. Gabriele closes his eyes, trapped between the wall and Primo. He knows he could get away. He knows it, he's taller, he's got the advantage of surprise. He knows, but he can't. 

Because he is fucking weak, always will be. For Primo of all people. Who could have told.

"3 hours you said?" Primo whispers in his ear, his breath warm, bringing a smell of smoke back in Gabriele's nose "that's enough, don't you think?" 

"Enough for what?" Gabriele's voice breaks as he whispers back. He could feel the man's lips hovering over his skin. He could feel himself trembling, fighting to stay still.

"To remind you" Primo's voice lowers, and Gabriele stumbles back to the wall, because he can feel him in front of him, staring at him, observing him with that hungry gaze of his "why you could never have killed me then. And why you still can't kill me now." Gabriele feels him coming closer, his lips above his own, calling for him. Gabriele swallows. He licks his lips, opens his mouth and -

"The car's up front. Get going, steward." Primo laughs. 

Gabriele is left reeling. He opens his eyes when Primo has already his back to him, throwing the door open. Primo is striding through the kitchen, calling out loudly and unfazed a goodbye to Paolo, as if he hadn't just - 

Gabriele breathes raggedly, tingling with the feeling of almost, almost having done it, right here in between the trash and the dog shit. Fuck the man and fuck it all. He will be the death of him before Gabriele can get his head around him.

Gabriele hurries in, and if he glares all the harder at Primo as the man starts driving through Rome's streets, it's worth it. It's all so worth it. Because he knows what's coming, he can feel it. 

"Where to then, _autista_?" Gabriele snaps, feeling childish and on edge, waiting for everything to fall apart. For Don Giuseppe to catch them both, killing Primo for disappearing without a word and Gabriele for not telling him straight away the man had come back. Gabriele doesn't want to know why Primo is here all of a sudden, but he will take what is freely given. 

It's worth it. Even if it were only for Primo's victorious smirk and his smug silence after, it would have been worth it. 

\- - - 

"Stop glaring for fuck's sake" Gabriele harshly mutters as they hug their goodbye. He can feel Primo's eyes drifting to the side, a few paces up front, where a guy with a weight on the inside of his jacket is waiting for someone to disembark off a plane. _Ahraf Marwan and family_ , his cardboard reads. There are two of them, who had sneered at Gabriele and Primo when they had kissed on the cheeks, like you do when you're in Italy and giving your blessings. 

_Fucking faggots_ , they had heard. 

Gabriele knew Primo didn't understand a lot of English, but that was something no one could really miss. Fucking foreigners. 

"Don't do anything stupid. Don Giuseppe's waiting for you this evening." Gabriele reminds him.

"Be glad we've parked the car in your parking lot." Primo tells him instead. 

Gabriele wants to hang his head. "It better not be in the same spot when I come back, you idiot."

Primo smiles and waves his fingers at him. 

Gabriele walks to the desk, and tries not to notice when Primo bumps in the two men, and leaves with a smirk. He sighs. 

The car will be in exactly the same place, four days from now. Another will be missing. At this point, Gabriele just hopes he won't come back to learn Primo has been killed.

It's the least he can hope for, but it already seems to be asking a lot.

\- - - 

Primo is nothing if not meticulous in his planning. Even when he acts on a whim, like here, he comes up quickly with ways to handle any possibilities. Even the direst ones. 

Primo plays with the keys of the Mercedes in his hands. Fucking foreigners he think, can't appreciate proper mechanics. He walks by the stairs leading to the parking lot under the airport and strides instead to the kiss and ride where the men had seemed to come from. Strange, he thinks to himself, as he plays with the tag where the license of the car is typed. Wouldn't a fancy private driver know his own car? What's the need for a tag? And why take an unknown foreigner for a driver, in Italy of all places uh?

He doesn't ponder too much as he looks around and right to the side there it is parked and waiting for a little family to jump in. It's sleek, classy, nothing as nice as his own fiat but it will be enjoyable for a drive around. Could be better than Gabriele's own even. Primo walks around it, and opens the driver's door. 

Fuckers will be looking for long before they hear a whisper of what's been done. 

\- - -

Primo drives around, he goes up the hills, enjoys the speed of the car and snickers at the fact that, yes, as he had thought, it's a rented one. There was something to be considered, if someone claiming to be a private driver rented a car. But for now, Primo enjoys the sun hitting the vehicle and blinding him, the warmth inside the metal and the music resonating in his ears. 

It was a nice break from the ongoing mess back in Salvatore's hands. Or the lecture he was expecting from Don Giuseppe, for having taken off from Rome without so much as a note. 

Primo's grip tightens on the wheel and he speeds up. It's almost over, that Getty business. It's almost done. It's a question of days now, it won't be long. But he hates having to pretend, going back to Rome as if nothing had changed. While also looking for the Getty's money all over the place. He rolls his shoulders, trying to relax. Thinking about a boat, and a port, and a new way to South America. 

Ciao Salvatore, Ciao Giuseppe. Ciao Gabriele, he smirks. We won't be needing a steward. But a port master, maybe? 

That's when he hears it, a muffled thump at the back of the car.

Primo starts and listens. 

Another thump resonates. 

He doesn't need more than that. 

Primo veers the car around, cutting the road and speeding up a worn-down track in a cloud of dust. 

One of the good aspects of being part of Rome's network; he knows the surroundings and where to dump a body. If needs be. 

\- - - 

Primo blinks. He blinks, and yet. There is still something inside the trunk that isn't supposed to be there.

"Che cazzo?" 

The man coughs and squints up at him, looking pitiful and sweaty as he pushes himself back, pressing against luggages at the same time.

 _"Please, I'm a diplomat"_ he rasps, holding his hands in front of him. 

Primo's ears ring, his brain goes blank. English.

He slams the trunk close. 

Fuck no. 

\- - - 

Primo tugs his gun out of his jacket when the man starts shouting. 

He is done with kidnapping English fuckers. He was supposed to have some time off from such things. Why did he end up stealing the only car with a man inside its trunk? 

The sun is unreleting at his back, and he feels sweat gathering on his neck. He pushes his hair back, his mind whirling as he thinks. He will shoot him here, leave the car to burn near the docks down by the airport and take Avitabile's car back to Rome. That's a sound plan. Solid. No one to see anything. No one who would speak at least. 

The man shouts again.

Let's do this.

When Primo throws the trunk open again, his gun is pointed to the man's head. 

The man jumps back. He opens his mouth, babbling some words in a mismatch of English and Arabic. 

Primo frowns, but his ears catch onto them, remembering vaguely Gabriele and Farah's conversations in those languages. He sneers. How lucky would he be to fall on an Arabic speaker of all people, in the trunk of a car in Rome. Farah will never let him live it down considering how he had never really shown an interest in her language in the first place. 

_"Stai zitto"_ Primo growls as the man goes on mumbling, eyes latched onto Primo's gun. _"Zitto ti ho detto!"_ He shouts, and the man falls silent, heaving and pushing himself back inside the trunk. Primo wants to snarl. 

_"Vai, scendi-"_

"Don't shoot me" the man starts saying again, in English, and Primo grits his teeth.

"I'm a diplomat! Egyptian diplomat!" 

Of course he would be. Primo's hand doesn't waver as he presses the gun to the man's head. 

_"Zit-"_

"I'm an Egyptian diplomat! Don't!" the man shouts back, in Italian this time. He sounds desperate and he is trembling all over now. "I'm an Egyptian diplomat" he says again. 

Primo doesn't like the fact that him speaking Italian makes him pause. Why, maybe because it's a nice change, to hear a foreigner actually speak their language?

"I'm an-" the man repeats, almost close to tears. 

"I heard you the first time around!" Primo snarls. He grips the top of the trunk tighter, leaning in. 

"What the fuck are you doing here?" 

The man heaves, it looks like he understood him but he takes his time replying. Primo details him over. Brown skin, set face with dark eyes, short hair, nice sunglasses hanging from a tightly pressed shirt and smart manners. Couturier's fashion. Fancy prick just like every other foreign fancy prick that exists out there in Rome. Except he is in Primo's trunk. Primo's finger itches on the trigger.

"Who are you?" the man asks, detailing him too with a dubious look "Where are we?" 

Primo ignores him. "What the fuck" he repeats instead "are you doing here?" He pushes his gun on the man's forehead, for the sake of clarity.

The man bites his lips. 

"I'm an -" 

Primo slams the gun in the man's temple, sending him crashing against the hot metal of the car in a pathetic cry. He is holding his face, and his wide eyes are proof enough that he is now understanding completely what a mess he is in. 

"If you repeat yourself again, I'll kill you and leave you to dry out there." Primo gestures vaguely with his gun. "I asked you: what are you doing here? Now you'll answer, and give me your name, for that matter." 

The man takes a moment, straightening but still holding himself back from Primo. 

"Ashraf" he says " my name is Ashraf. I- I-" 

"Ashraf" Primo smiles "don't make me wait." 

"I- I was at Rome's airport-" he tries, fumbles about. Primo feels his patience run thin.

"You're not anymore. Spill."

"I- I- where is Alex?" he looks up at him, eyes wide and still.

Primo stares. 

"That's it" he says "get out. Out! I said, out!" 

Ashraf stumbles out of the car, clearly dizzy and muscles still tingling from being crouched all that time. 

"Kneel" Primo gestures at the ground of the white chalk clearing they are in. Ashraf looks at him with fear. 

"I said kneel!" 

"I'm an -"

"I don't care you're Nasser's son-in-law!" Primo snarls out the first thing that comes to his mind, and the man startles looking caught out "I told you to kneel -"

"It's Zvi who sent you, isn't it? Alex let you get away with the car, to scare me." Ashraf cuts him, straightening suddenly. Primo notices then they are about the same height, he keeps the gun trained in front of him. The man looks angry, more than scared, which isn't a good thing. 

"What?" Primo seethes. 

"How do you know I'm Nasser's son-in-law, uh? You're Mossad aren't you?" Ashraf cries in the wind. "I knew it. You're a band of sore losers, and I knew it" he starts laughing. 

Primo doesn't like what he is implying, doesn't like not understanding. 

He shoots right between Ashraf's feet. The man startles, falls silent and stares at him.

"Shut it" Primo says "kneel."

"Why?" the man is trembling again "So you can kill me? I did you a favor out here, and that's how you repay me? They will know, Sadat will know you did it. You're useless! Where is my wife? My son? What did you do to them? What is Alex doing to them?" Ashraf shouts, desperate. 

Primo stops in his steps. He cocks his head. 

"Kneel" he repeats calmly, and doesn't move his gun from the man's head before he does as he is told. 

Primo walks behind him. 

"Now, you're going to tell me everything." he tells him "or you'll regret it. You and your little family." 

The man looks back at him with a darkening gaze. He swallows, and Primo sees him shifting in the heat burning around them on the hills, encasing them both. 

Ashraf starts talking, reluctantly, in a string of broken Italian and half-English sentences. But it's better than anything Primo could have expected. 

\- - - 

Primo laughs, he can't help himself.

He is tired of the weeks of waiting, he is stressed with the unexpected encounter of a strange man speaking nonsense, and he feels suddenly freer than anything ever. This one he will have to tell Farrah. Even if no one believes him, it's too good to keep it to himself. 

So Primo laughs, loud and unrestrained, he almost chokes on spite as he hunches over his knees trying to control back his breathing. 

The man, Ashraf, is still kneeling, drenched in sweat and fidgeting. He glances back but doesn't move to get a proper look at Primo. 

"Oh boy" Primo says finally, wheezing "that's a wild tale you've got here." 

"It's not a tale!" Ashraf shouts "What is wrong with you? Check with your colleagues, and let me get back to my family!" 

"Right" Primo snorts looking up at the sky and keeping his gun to his side now, relaxed. Because really if this one was a threat _he_ Primo would be the nephew of Nasser, or whatever. 

"What's so funny?" Ashraf snaps, tiredness and thirst playing with his ability to stay silent. 

"You're gone, completely bonkers" Primo chuckles "stand up. I'll take your tale." He fishes a cigarette out of his pocket and lights it. 

Ashraf gets unsteadily up to his feet, watching him uncertainly.

"You've got a wild imagination, that's for sure." Primo looks around and shrugs, sending a cloud of smoke up "Guess you can use that to go back to the airport now." 

"You're leaving me here?" Ashraf gapes at him. "You can't! They- they will wonder! The police, they will be looking for me! And what am I supposed to say then?" 

"You can tell them all you've just told me" Primo smirks as he goes back to the car and opens the driver's door. Ashraf stumbles, following. 

"Please, I've done everything right. I just want to go back to my wife!"

"Right. Your wife. The daughter of Nasser."

Ashraf looks at him eagerly. "Please, I know Zvi doesn't like me, but you can't just-"

"You're Nasser's son-in-law, an Egyptian diplomat spying for Israel, right? And I'm the guy who is sitting on Getty the third waiting for the golden egg to pop out." Primo laughs.

The disbelief flashing on Ashraf's face is worth it. Primo smirks. 

Ashraf swallows, and sets his jaw. 

"Okay." 

Primo is already half in the car when he hears the words. He stops, looking back in confusion. 

"Okay" Ashraf repeats, walking around the car "I wouldn't put it past the whole lot of you to do such a stupid thing. So, okay. I'm Nasser's son-in-law, I'm a diplomat spying for Israel. The Mossad has kidnapped a Getty for money. What's the matter, you don't believe me?" 

Primo blinks, and before he can react Ashraf is settling himself in the passenger's seat of the Mercedes. 

Primo looks down at him. 

"Get out. And anyway, who said I was Mossad?"

Ashraf sits tight. He eyes him, tired and frustrated. 

"I want to speak to Zvi. Tell him the Angel wants to speak with him."

Primo bites his lips, but can't contain the chuckle that rises. 

"The Angel? How cute. Now, Angelo, get the fuck out of the car." 

Ashraf looks determined. 

"You're taking me back home. I'm not going anywhere."

"I'm not asking your opinion there, Angel." 

"Here" the man takes something out of his inside pocket and throws it at Primo. 

Primo catches it swiftly. It's small, and it bites into his palm, strangely warm.

"What do you expect me to do with this?"

"Proof, for Zvi." the man shrugs.

Primo blinks. 

"Proof." 

Ashraf huffs, as if he is in a position to fuss here. 

"It's the lever of the missile launchers. One of them. I took them out, that's why the launchers didn't work." 

Primo looks at the ridiculous piece of metal. He throws it over his shoulder, and points his gun again at the man. 

"Hey!" Ashraf shouts. 

"Get out. It was fun while it lasted, now I've got to go."

"I can't find my way back!" 

"Aren't you called Angel? Use those divine powers of yours." 

Ashraf snarls. "My wife is expecting me! My son will be in tears!"

Primo shrugs. "I'm not either of them."

"I have no idea where they find you, but damn you're always assholes deep down aren't you?" Ashraf screams at him, rising up in his seat to get to Primo's eyes level. 

Primo unlocks the trigger of his gun in the tense silence that follows Ashraf declaration.

"Give me one good reason not to dump your dead body here, Angel. Are you going to resurrect and come back for me if I kill you?" 

Ashraf tenses. 

"I've got money." he mutters finally.

Primo's eyes narrow behind his sunglasses. He thinks about the golden goose, and the promises, promises that have yet to crack open. He thinks about Salvatore's hands dipping in that well of dollars that Primo had so nicely brought to him. 

Primo looks at the man in front of him, chanting about spies and conspiracies but talking about real money. Concrete money. No promises. 

_Meglio un uovo oggi che una gallina domani_ , Primo remembers Fifty's mother saying.

"How much are we talking about?" 

Ashraf sights. He gestures at the back.

"In the luggages." 

\- - - 

It's not Getty's ramsom, but the dollars in Primo's hands weight something at least.

He is even feeling so charitable that Ashraf is allowed to sit in the car, instead of going back into the trunk for the drive back. 

Primo isn't stupid, he keeps his gun pointed at Ashraf's guts as he drives. But it's still nicer than anything he had planned. 

"So what's your story, with Getty's kidnapping?" Ashraf asks as he lights a smoke in the car.

Primo spares him a glance but shakes his head. 

"I told you everything. Care to share a little story?" 

Primo chuckles. 

"Want to hear what I plan on doing with the money?" 

\- - - 

"It's absurd" Ashraf huffs, watching Primo leisurely lounging in the driver's seat. "It's genius. But absurd." 

The man hums. 

Ashraf feels a smile coming up his lips.

"And what about the money I gave you?" 

Primo shrugs, taking a wide turn at a crossroad. 

"Treat yourself?" 

Primo chuckles. 

"What for? I've got everything I need for free." he smirks, sending him a glance over his sunglasses.

"Everything? You're sure? No one does." Ashraf licks his lips. 

"Pretty sure I do. Or I will." Primo tells him, confidence shaping itself around him.

Ashraf looks at him, at that man who knows what he can do in this world and who knows how to build his life from the ground up, alone if necessary. He nods. It must be nice, to know where you're going in your life. 

"You don't need much then" He cocks his head, trying to shade his eyes from the setting sun in front of them. 

Primo's lips tugs upward. "I know what I need. It's different." 

"And what do you need?"

Primo spares him a glance. He doesn't answer as he drives down a boulevard in Rome.

\- - - -

They reach Ashraf's rented house, and the door opens before the car is fully parked in front of the gate. Primo whistles in appreciation for the two story high villa, and Ashraf shrugs, as if embarrassed. 

"You said you didn't need much either" he snorts. 

"I don't. My family though, nothing's good enough for them, you know." 

Primo nods. Just as he hears the gate whining open, Ashraf looks at Primo, and presents his hand, waiting for him to shake it. 

"It was nice to meet you, albeit in strange circumstances."

Primo laughs. "Are you always polite with people who pull a gun out on you and then rob you blind?" 

Ashraf bites his lips. "Well, I guess I sort of forgot about it when we started talking. It was a nice drive around. Company could have been worse, considering."

"You're mad, Angel."

Ashraf chuckles. He glances to the side, expecting to see Mona, but it's Alex that strides forward. 

Ashraf's eyes widen. 

Primo takes his hand and tugs him sharply toward him. Ashraf holds his breath, taken by surprise, as he finds himself leaning into the other man. 

"When you come back to Rome, I want to hear the end of that story of yours, Angel." Primo whispers in his ears. Ashraf can feel the smirk on his lips. 

Primo pushes him back and Ashraf acquiesces, disoriented. It's only when Primo nods at the door, that Ashraf notices his gun is trained on him again, more properly now than before. He swallows heavily as he moves to get out. He doesn't know what brought that up, but he doesn't want to find out. 

Alex is waiting in front of the car, a hand to his hips as Ashraf steps out slowly. 

"Where were you?" Alex growls at him, his eyes glancing back at the driver's seat to get a good look at Primo while keeping Ashraf in his field of vision. 

Ashraf can see Primo leaning away from the wheel, his eyes narrowing behind his sunglasses. His gun is still trained on him. Ashraf doesn't move from the door just yet.

"Where you left me" he seethes at Alex, looking for a trace of Mona or his son inside the house. But there are no movements. Ashraf tenses. "With your little friend over here" he snaps, nodding at Primo "I'm done playing games, Alex. Done, you hear me?"

"Our little friend?" Alex bends forward, and Ashraf can see him doing a double take at Primo, who waves back innocently."That fucker -" Alex whispers, and Ashraf steps away from his door and slams it close as he sees Alex about to take his gun out too. He stride forwards, pulling Alex away to look him in the eyes.

"Where are they?" he asks "please, are they safe?" 

Alex nods tightly. "Inside" he snaps but before Ashraf can leave, he catches his sleeve. 

"Who the fuck is he, Ashraf?" Alex whispers to him.

Ashraf blinks at him and looks back at Primo, who is watching the exchange with interest, leaning on the wheel as if it was just another day for him. 

"One of yours, isn't he?" Ashraf says, turning back to Alex "or did you mess up and almost made me disappear, trying to threaten me again? Which is it, then?" 

Alex swallows, taking a glance at Primo. Ashraf doesn't look, but he can tell Primo smiles when he feels Alex squeezing his arm tighter. 

Ashraf shakes Alex off, and waves absently at Primo. The car slowly steers back on the road and leaves. 

Alex is still looking at him, pale and heaving. 

"What-" he croaks out, but Ashraf is done with him for now. 

"I told him to keep the car." he snaps, before rushing up the drive of the house. He doesn't care that Alex is left standing in front of the gate, he doesn't really care what Primo does with the car afterwards, if he burns it like he had told him or throws it off a cliff. 

At least, he has Mona in his arms now, and he can see his son playing about. 

He doesn't think he will come back to Rome anytime soon. But who knows.

\- - - 

When Gabriele comes back to Rome, it's Farrah who greets him. He looks around, waiting for Primo to appear, but the man is nowhere to be seen. 

"Please, tell me he's still alive." He snaps tiredly at her straight away, as she hugs him and kisses him loudly on the cheek. 

"Last time I heard yes" she chuckles, patting his rumpled jacket."Hello to you too, it's been a while!"

"Why are you here?" Gabriele glances about, feeling the hours of flight taking their their toll on his back. 

"Because Primo is back home apparently for the time being." Farrah smiles "Something about the confirmation of a nephew or some shit. Also because even if he had been here, I would have insisted to come darling."

Gabriele looks at her and frowns. 

"Why?" 

"Because Primo can't keep his head straight for a second, and the last time he was here with you, if you can believe it, he didn't make it in time for Giuseppe's meeting and he actually came up with a absolutely unbelievable tale of a spying -"

Gabriele grits his teeth, taking Farrah's arm and dragging her to a side-hallway. The girl doesn't even protest, that's how Gabriele knows it's not a joke she's playing on him. And that Primo did do something stupid. 

"What did he do?" he grumbles at her.

Farrah shrugs, looking up. 

"At this point, even I can't tell what he took to think that up, honest."

Gabriele shakes his head. 

"Is it about the car? It's the fucking car isn't it? I told him not to do it, fucker."

Farrah frowns. 

"He did say he stole a car from here, are you saying that's true?" she snickers "Because then, there was something about an Egyptian diplomat spying for the Mossad, hidding in the trunk of that same car. Completely fucked up story. Ada and I had a bet on whether or not your Don Giuseppe would strangle him. He didn't, just so you know. But I think I should stop talking Egyptian politics around Primo when he's high on coke, makes his brain go crazy -"

Gabriele has to lean against the wall to prevent himself from crumbling down. He almost bashes his head against the cold tiles.

"Oh my god"

Farrah doesn't hear him, and keeps up her speech "Apparently the guy claimed to be Nasser's son-in-law, and there was something about him helping a missed terrorist attack on a plane here in Rome's airport and -"

"The Tel-Aviv flight." Gabriele mutters behind his hands.

That makes Farrah pause. 

"What?" 

"The Tel-Aviv flight, 5 days ago. There was a note, going around. A terrorist attempt, Libyans. They tried to shoot down a plane here. Flying for Tel-Avil. After the Israeli took down one of theirs. Can't remember when."

"Are you serious?" Farrah asks, carefully. 

Gabriele glares. "It's hushed up. No one talks about it, we aren't allowed to, for the serenity of the passengers. But it happened. It's international politics. There were agents going around, of the Ministry of Defense. Asking questions. I thought I was done for, with my parcels." he seethes "How could Primo have known? We were only told because we were about to depart when it came up. Apparently, the guys claimed to have been made by an Egyptian envoy -" 

Farrah pales. "Are you actually telling me he didn't make it up?"

"I'm telling you, 5 days ago Primo stole a car off this airport out of spite and that same day there was an incident involving Libyan and and Isreali politics at that same airport. With unsupported claims of Egypt's involvement." 

"Oh my god. He's for real." Farrah mutters. "I can't believe he met Nasser's son-in-law!"

* * *  
Language notes: 

_Dai_ = come on  
_Autista_ = driver  
_Zitto/ Stai zitto_ = stay silent!  
_Meglio un uovo oggi che una gallina domani_ = literally better an egg today than a hen tomorrow / a bird in the hand is worth two in the bush

**Author's Note:**

> [Back in Calabria on the day of the stealing/kidnapping]
> 
> Leo: *ears tingling*
> 
> Leo: *frowning* what the fuck is Primo up to now? 
> 
> * * *  
> Good gracious, thank you for reading this piece of who-knows-what. I'm impressed you came all that way. I hope you're not leaving grumpy or offended. Dare I hope you enjoyed it? Thank you for clicking AND staying to the end of it <3


End file.
